The Walk
by Plasmea
Summary: Remove it, keep his distance. Anything to stop himself from feeling Yamamoto any more than he already is." In which Yamamoto somehow worms his way a bit too close to Gokudera for comfort. Yamamoto X Gokudera One Shot


My first finished YamaGoku Fanfic, I suggest you listen to _The Walk_ by Imogen Heap, it's what I was listening to.

This takes place a couple years in the future, a while before the Millefiore arc.

Disclaimers: Are they necessary? Nothing is mine, WE ALL KNOW THIS.

--

"It's not meant to be like this," he says, loudly, hands pressing tightly over his temples, fingers ringed tightly around his silver locks. He pulls and pulls and pulls and can't stand it at all because pulling isn't helping at all, and he _really_ wishes it would.

"Gokudera—," Yamamoto says, reaching a hand out to the checkered shoulder of the shorter boy. When his eyes flicker towards the hand his immediate reaction is for his wristband to connect with the back of Yamamoto's hand.

Remove it, keep his distance. Anything to stop himself from _feeling _Yamamoto any more than he already is.

He shuts his eyes; he feels a headache coming along.

"Don't _touch_ me!" he flares, and steps two paces forward, away from Yamamoto—baseball freak, rival of all rivals.

Crush of all crushes.

Yamamoto pauses, and then offers his hand again, "I'm sorry," he says. "Whatever I did I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, no, NO!" his voice is as high as he can get, he's shaking his head and it's starting to hurt from all the pulling and the thinking and the hurting and more thinking. He whirls around and before he knows it his hand and fingers burn like all hell.

His eyes snap open just when Yamamoto slides over the hardwood floor. His teeth are bitten down and his head lolls on the floor for a moment. Gokudera could swear that he bounced on the surface once. His breath is hitched and he can't think anymore, and if he did he'd probably be wishing he couldn't.

His joints crackle as he unravels his fist.

"…"

He gets up slowly, "…Gokudera…"

"…"

"Gokudera."

_How did it come to this?_

When did they start sitting next to one another in the middle of class, when did Yamamoto decide to beg to switch seats with Ayano Higa from homeroom? And since when did Gokudera not _mind_ that Yamamoto went to a length to sit next to him?

How did they start passing notes, pointless little conversations on tiny sticky-notes in class?

And when did he start to collect them and put them in a little music-box in his room? Though his excuse when in need to settle his stomach was that he needed to fill it with _something_ because it was kind of just _rotting_ there, not that silver rots. Gokudera realizes, also, that silver music boxes were not all that _manly_, but it played one of his favorite compositions, (and nobody was at liberty to question his tastes unless they had a second pair of teeth on hand, anyways).

They'd, along with Tsuna (and Ryohei, if he was _extremely_ insistent that it was imperative to be blessed with their company for whatever reason, usually trying to convince the 10th that he should join the boxing team, in which Gokudera would be vexed, and try to chase him off. Usually that ends with a black eye) eat lunch together, on the roof if the rest of the school decided they'd eat indoors.

Gokudera would lean on the fence, and twirl a cigarette between his fingers if he weren't taking a drag from it. Yamamoto would seat himself by Gokudera's feet, in front of his feet really, so he could lean on him if he just felt like annoying him. He'd make the excuse of avoiding the ash from falling on his head; even though it'd be smarter to just sit opposite the hand Gokudera was holding it with, because it really didn't make a difference sitting in front. Gokudera avoided dropping ash over people anyways, that type of misconduct could get him suspended (not that Yamamoto would rat him out).

Tsuna would sit in front of them, listen to them argue every day, which would one day turn to terse and then tepid words towards one another.

Soon enough Gokudera would slide down the barb-wire fence and sit behind Yamamoto, who'd start leaning on his knee after a while. Silver hairs lowering over his face as he'd scowl his usual scowl and protest once or twice and Yamamoto would ignore it until he gave up and let him rest.

Okay, he'd acknowledged that this baseball-_hysterical_ idiot had somehow wormed his way into _Gokudera's List of Remotely Acceptable Individuals_. Yamamoto was a _worthy_ rival after all, and they'd watch each other's back in battle.

This was all well and good (after many pensive hours, many cancer-sticks and many punches to the wall), but one day Yamamoto thought he had the right to brush elbows with him as they walked down the halls and over to the boss's house together. What the hell.

How did that start? Oh right, an umbrella—something Yamamoto had and Gokudera needed. Rain and shit, they'd be walking together ever since because Gokudera couldn't be _bothered _to buy something like that.

That was the same time Yamamoto gave Gokudera his phone number to put into his cell.

"In case it's raining and you don't have a jacket or umbrella!" He said with that cheerful, happy-go-lucky smile. "I'll pick you up!" Stupid because they walked home together anyways.

"Don't _baby_ me, asshole. I won't die from a little rainfall." He tucked his cell phone into his pocket, and having memorized it in his head, he'd record his number upon parting ways. His ego was on the line after all.

He'd step away and continue walking, and Yamamoto would just reposition himself into close proximity. That'd get him a light elbow, and then they'd proceed with touching elbows and walking down streets and passing notes and sitting with each…

Fine. They were friends, okay, okay, okay. Gokudera was _friends_ with Yamamoto. Stupid rivals with their creepy smiles and ridiculous optimism and oblivious…ness.

They were _close_ friends, and suddenly people called them inseparable. They were the _screwed_ up best friends that never stopped tussling and fighting and would never leave one another the fuck alone (Which is mostly the thought of all the girls fawning over Gokudera, and Gokudera himself) and both of them would be alright with that but not totally. Yeah.

They'd stay like that for a while, not changing in the least. Yamamoto would lie on Gokudera's knee, they'd sit together, brush shoulders while walking and that was it, presto. Sure, okay Gokudera was _okay_ with that.

Everything had settled down, _and Gokudera was okay with that._

And then suddenly everything turned upside down because Yamamoto took another step closer. Just a little one, a theft of next base (_purely_ an analogy for the sake of the baseball freak, nothing more. No pun intended.)

That one day Yamamoto decided at lunchtime on the rooftops that one hot, summer day to rest his head against Gokudera's shoulder, arm limp on his lap.

_Okay_, that was weird.

"What? I'm tired." He'd say, somewhat listlessly.

The King of sports and unlimited stamina, tired? Bullshit.

But it became a constant.

As was putting his hand on his shoulder—it'd never be a guy-pat either. It'd be one of those subtle displacements that you never noticed until it was totally _there_ and shit, and hard to pretend you never fucking noticed it, because you'd have to be an airhead or mentally _retarded_ not to.

That threw him off a bit. Well, it threw him off a _lot._

Because Gokudera would feel his face get hot and his stomach tighten every time he touched him in that deliberate, delicate slow (fucking creepy, that's what it was). He'd only protest the first few times with "What the hell are you doing?" and he'd never be answered with anything but a happy, clueless little smile as if that solved all the problems. He'd ask, and drop it because that look would tell him that he wouldn't get an answer anyways.

He didn't mind it and it _bothered_ him that he didn't mind it, because he _liked_ it and started to feel weird without it.

Gokudera was _not_ okay with that, and he'd be contemplating about it for a while, binging further on cancer-sticks and late nights and extra pensiveness because it just didn't make _sense_.

He never got around to figuring it out before it was a bit late, though.

The time would come when Yamamoto would actually _notice_ this (noticing anything was already a pretty big shock to anybody). This excessive smoking and the frustration in the quirk of his brow, and he'd ask Gokudera what the matter was in an almost obscure, uncertain tone. He had a cheer that looked unreal as he placed a hand over Gokudera's shoulder, brushing up his arm when he did.

Gokudera dropped his fifth cigarette of the day (it was almost lunch. _Almost_.) And he stamped on it, brushing Yamamoto's hand off, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks again, and his stomach and innards going inside out.

"Don't," he said.

"Don't what?" Yamamoto replied.

"Stop… touching me," Gokudera said, a scowl on his face. It was a funny scowl, because Gokudera didn't feel angry at the time.

"Eh? Why, what's the matter, huh?" he slung his arm over Gokudera's shoulder all buddy-buddy like and was rejected quite hastily.

"I said don't!" Gokudera bit, ducking around the arm. "You're freaking me ou—" It looked almost premeditated because just as he uttered the last syllable, two arms capture his waistline and he's pulled straight into Yamamoto's chest, whom speaks before he can protest further (and he'd a lot of things to say).

"But nothing's wrong," Yamamoto said, his grip tightens with every second, tenderly and Gokudera doesn't resist because he can't think _again_.

He reiterates it, tranquil in voice and touch and breath and everything. From that point Gokudera kind of realises that Yamamoto must've noticed _this_ a long time ago, even before he did, maybe before Gokudera even gave a shit.

Which clears up a few things.

That comforts him and he doesn't know why.

"Nothing is wrong with this, so don't think that." The warmth encircled around his waist and the foreign short, short hairs tickling his cheek made him forget to push. He forgets to run away, and for that moment, he thinks of returning the warmth, returning the firm hold that he was being given…

That security.

But he didn't move at all, because Yamamoto had complete control of this moment, and the control told him to sink in and let it lie in someone else's hands. To give in and simply relish every moment of it.

Because Yamamoto is the only one able to push him without even touching him.

He's the only one to make him feel like freezing, and lose control forever.

They're rivals, of all the people to force him to adapt and change and _shit._

He's the only one that made him feel the weakness creeping up on him.

_Weak…_

And then he pushes Yamamoto away _because_ of this and he holds his head in his hands and tells him that he shouldn't be here and that this wasn't supposed to happen and that it shouldn't and that he really, _really_ wished that they just stayed friends.

"It's not meant to be like this," he says, hands tight over his head.

Hell why didn't they just stay enemies, two sides to two different coins.

He was totally fine with that. _Gokudera was okay with that._

"Gokudera…" Yamamoto offers a hand to his shoulder, rejected with a quick backhand.

_No,_ get away.

_If you touch me I'll give in._

"Don't touch me!"

He says this with his shove and lashes out and steps away and tells Yamamoto that it's not safe in here because his senses are haywire and his chest hurts and something there aches and he doesn't know what it is, but knows if he just stays away it will be alright. He feels weak and that's the one thing he never wants to feel because once he starts knowing and feeling it he can never go back and he'll wonder about it more and more until his mind explodes. And Gokudera doesn't want that.

He can't keep track of everything happening and he's scared.

He can't roll with these punches fast enough so all he can do is block them.

This lasts for another fives minutes until Gokudera's fist finally collides with Yamamoto, and Gokudera can't move anymore, because Yamamoto has a look on his face that makes him feel so much _worse_ than he's ever felt in his life.

And then Yamamoto calls out his name again.

_Stop. Don't say my name. Don't say it, don't say it, please._

"Gokudera…" he says the fourth time, groaning, rubbing his sore jaw with the back of his hand. And again he extends a palm-up hand, his motions fastidious because he knows Gokudera's currently on deer-in-the-headlights mode.

He looks from his eyes to the hand and back again. He studies Yamamoto's face because it's _weird._ He isn't angry and he isn't upset. He's just _smiling_ softly as if to tell Gokudera that he _understands _now

He's sorry and now he knows why, so does Gokudera.

"Let me try again, if only once…" He says with a docile smile. Gokudera's eyes quirk and his fists ball up because his heart is sinking. It's sinking to the point where it feels almost bottomless. It's bottomless to the point where he needs something to fill it up with. And it's something that he knows he has, and whether he reaches out to that hand or not dictates whether that something will fill his bottomless heart.

He doesn't reach because he doesn't know how, and he doesn't want to.

He drops to his knees and hovers over Yamamoto for a moment, looking almost grievous but vexed. His head dips low and he's completely silent. Yamamoto doesn't like this, and tucks his hand beneath Gokudera's chin and lifts his face up slowly.

He is weak, and this will hurt him.

And he knows this, so does Yamamoto.

But he can't resist and he can't get a hold of himself because he wants this, and that's what makes him weak.

But he trusts Yamamoto to know this.

He doesn't resist, and Yamamoto's fingers barely brush past his cheeks and flicks hair behind his ear—touches his ear. He doesn't look away when he holds either side of his face so daintily with his un-dainty hands.

At this point, he wants to trust Yamamoto, maybe even more than Tsuna.

Gokudera consents it all by letting his eyes flutter shut, and leaning in close enough to feel Yamamoto's breath brush past him ever so gently.

It's warm, it's so close.

Nothing's ever been closer.

And then it vanishes, as quickly as it came and his eyes open again and Yamamoto smiles his star-smile (only a bit softer than usual) and leaves the room with an endearing look on his face. He's left there, satiated—satisfied, almost, but not completely.

And he is okay with this. Gokudera is okay with this.

Gokudera doesn't want to feel Yamamoto anymore than he already is.

Not yet, because he knows walking will take them further than running.

He knows this, and now Yamamoto does too.


End file.
